Travel & Photography Blog

Pokhara, April 2013

Pokhara is precisely what one needs after a long trek – a lake, calmness, beautiful landscape, good restaurants, pubs, fruit juices, fresh vegetables and fruits (pineapple!), steaks and mainly lots of rest.

Cows and buffalos stroll along Pokhara’s lakeshore, and the locals wash their clothes (as they do in any other water source in Nepal).
While walking along the lakeshore, we’ve discovered a restaurant-bar called Freedom Cafe. True to its name, the place has a feeling of freedom to it, along with well prepared food and drinks. Oh, and as if that’s not enough, they also got a small stage. The day we discovered the place, there was a group of musicians jamming on stage.
It was the first place where I truly had the chance to get mingled with other tourists, not Israelis. That night we sat there with people from Sweden, France, USA, Mexico and Holland. I’ve discovered that the vibes are completely different, it’s a whole other experience. It’s not better or worse, just different. Back then, I still couldn’t put my finger on the causes for that.

When the musicians on stage asked where’s the drummer that wanted to play earlier (that’s Begam), and then asked him if by any chance he knows a willing guitar player around, I had a moment of hesitation. Stage fright.
“Snap out of it, there aren’t that many people here and you haven’t had a chance to play a guitar for a couple of weeks now. Stop being afraid.”, I told myself, and found myself on the stage with a strage electric guitar, jamming with a drummer (that’s the easy part, we’ve played together hundreds of times), a bass player and a mouth harp player (what an unnecessary instrument!). My foot was shaking – not along with the rhythm, but because of my anxiety. Nevertheless, The bass player started playing a bass riff and the drums responded. After a few bars, I joined in and started improvising. It was so much fun to finally play, and I think the small croud has even improved the experience for me.

Every other person smokes weed in Pokhara, and it’s an issue that’s been on my mind a lot in the last few days back home. I’ve realised long ago that weed is not the devil itself. If I can drink a beer, there’s no reason to fear weed (besides the fact it’s illegal), but still, something in me recoiled by it. We were sitting with an American guy and he offered us a toke. Everyone was passing it along, skipping over me, because they all assumed I didn’t want any. I was paralised due to the inner conflict that’s been raging inside me – my stuck-up part was screaming that it’s a bad idea, but my laid-back part, the one that’s been spreading inside me since the start of that trip, was curious about it and wanted to know what it’s like. What do you know, it seems like the cliche about long-time travellers in south & east asia is true after all). After 15 minutes, as the toke was just passing me by, I grabbed it before they’d skip over me again, and asked the American how to do it. He explained, and I tried. Then came a few agonizing moments of coughing and choking up – maybe because I haven’t smoked ANYTHING before. After the suffering was over, I tried to form a conclusion. I figured maybe I’d wait for India to try again, but more importantly – that I don’t regret trying it out. Looking back, I haven’t felt the need to try again ever since then.

Nepal takes me out of my comfort zone, and I just love it. It’s expressed in trying out weed, in going up on stage and joining in on a jam session, and in facing my fears. One of those fears is, for example, jumping to a natural pool from a high place, and rappelling through a waterfall.

Jumping to the water has been a special experience: I’m standing at the edge, the deep pool is a few meters beneath me, and all I’ve got to do is just jump. when you rappel or slide down, there’s always someone holding you, pushing you, controlling your movements one way or another. When you’re about to jump to a pool, it’s just you against yourself. You’re standing there, waiting for your courage, and it doesn’t come. At first, the fear is paralizing, and the pool looks lightyears away.

And then I take a deep breath. I’m telling myself that I don’t have a choice, that it’s gonna happen. I count to three, and… jump! And then comes the fun part.

On the other hand, our fears can have a strong basis: the last natural water slide was followed by a short fall to the pool beneath it. My right ankle got lightly hit by the stone wall while I was falling, but a light hit when you’ve got a lot of momentum can be significant. The five minutes I had to walk from that pool to the finish line were enough for me to realise that (A) it’s really painful, and there’s definitely something wrong with my foot, and (B) our plans to go straight to Kathmandu and go trekking again are not that relevant anymore.

In light of that, we’ve decided to head back to Pokhara, since it’s a much better place to rest. Dr. Gupta, an Indian doctor, informed me that I’m lucky to have ‘only’ sprained my ankle, instructed me to rest for a week, and prescribed a variety of pills and ointments.

For the first time in my life, I sprained an organ and had my mobility limited. For the first few days, I couldn’t walk without using my trekking poles as walking sticks. Every step was a painful effort. That first night, after we’d visited the doctor, we went out for dinner. That walk to the restaurant took so long, instead of taking only a few moments. I’ve felt every step, and apart from the physical pain and my frustration by my new disability, I felt like I’m a burden on my friends. I didn’t have any choice but to send them back and forth to bring me all sorts of stuff and to order me taxis.

We spent the next day in Freedom Cafe: Shaked is knitting a bracelet, a band is playing on stage, tourists from all over the west are sitting, eating and smoking together, and my leg is bandaged, resting upon an elevated spot. I felt good at that moment, in spite of everything.

And then we failed to find a taxi. Half an hour of an agonizing, painful and exhausting walk. Reality has come back to strike my foot (that’s actually a Hebrew idiom that doesn’t translate well, but you get the gist).